It’s starting once more, my mother’s moods are dipping. It’s been a glorious 2 weeks of her not being hateful, hurtful, or somber. She can be such fun when her moods are swinging up, but they always swing back down. That portion of the ride has begun again. I can tell when its coming because her tone of voice changes and she uses phrases like “if you want, I mean you don’t have to,” and similar self-deprecating statements. When it gets really bad, she begins using new words excessively. I remember one time she latched on to the word “snarky,” not once has she ever used that word, not before and not since. But for about a week everything i did or said was SNARKY. She was particularly hateful at that time. I know that before long, everything I do will piss her off and she will decide I must hate her. She will yell at me and tell me I’m worthless. Though, to her credit, she has managed to find ways to tell me I’m worthless without using those words. Her ability to make me feel like a piece of garbage is almost as strong as my ability to make me feel like garbage. Perhaps I learned it from her, my self-hatred. I know I shouldn’t believe the trash she feeds me, but its all that plays through my mind. Its like this all-consuming voice. It plays on repeat in my brain, telling me every hurtful thing she or my father has ever said to me, every neglectful moment replays in my mind. Every person she has ever liked better than me flashes through my mind, it’s a lot of girls, most of them were my childhood friends. She would tell me how much she just loves this one or that, “I love that kid!” And each time I knew what it meant. It meant that she wished I was more like so and so. And I would try to be, try to be smarter, try to be funnier, try to be more courageous, try to be more beautiful, try to be thinner. It killed me, but I tried. I just wanted her to love me for who I am. But who can love a stupid, boring, scared little fat girl with ugly brown hair and crooked teeth? No one, of course, because I’m not worthy of such things. I’ve never been good enough for her. And to make up for my shortcomings, she found other children she much preferred. I remember being in middle school, the first time I felt like she wished I was a different child. She spent 98% of her time fawning over her students, giving them everything she had, everything we had. I spent my time alone in my room playing with my dolls and trying not to cry. That was when her hurtful words really got started. Her temper had been around for years, but her hurtful words started then.
My first strong memory of her temper and jealousy came when I was about 4 years old. My father was going to take me to the store with him but I needed to get my shoes on. I guess I took too long in my room because he had already left when I returned. I was so upset that he left without me that I began crying and pounding on the front door. Naturally this angered my mother who picked up one of the glass candle holders and chucked it at me. It hit the front door about me and shattered. I don’t remember anything after that moment. My mother does not remember that moment at all. Perhaps I invented it in my brain. I could almost believe that except that my grandmother remembered the candle wreath that the class holder was part of, and she remembered one holder missing.
I began hating myself in 3rd grade. By then I had switched schools 4 times, we moved frequently. It was then that I began feeling different from the other kids around me. I wondered why I didn’t wear cute outfits or have shiny hair. I immediately concluded that it was due to me being fat. I was a little chubby. And due to my family not having money for such excesses. My mother only spent money on me when her moods were high. I’m sure I sound like a spoiled brat, ‘oh boo hoo my mommy didn’t buy me the best dolly in the department store,’ but I was not always her priority. Yes I had an excess of toys, I always got plenty for my birthday and Christmas. I never went without necessities. Never the less, I felt different from the other children. I struggled to make any friends and spent most of my time playing alone. No one noticed this.
Perhaps that’s my biggest problem, no one seems to notice anything about me. Sure they may notice the obvious things, “did you dye you hair?” But when I began purging excessively in high school, no one noticed. When I sat alone after school everyday in middle school, no one noticed. When I started cutting, no one noticed. No one even realized I was sad when I tried to o.d. on pain killers. My deepest depression was overlooked. And here I am again, starving myself, drinking and doing drugs, cutting when necessary. No one has noticed. Maybe I just crave attention. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child. Maybe it’s because I’m a piece of garbage. Maybe it’s because I don’t deserve to be noticed.
It occurred to me the other day, that not one person in my life has ever told me I’m gorgeous or beautiful, or even pretty. I have been told I look nice, or my father’s standard is “look at you.” I hear my family tell my “little sister”, a friend of the family who we spend a great deal of time with, how gorgeous she is. She is 17 and weighs about 106 lbs. Being 5’5″ and that light naturally makes her beautiful. But my twisted mind only sees her as not thin enough. She doesn’t have a thigh gap, in fact her thighs are flabby. She doesn’t have beautiful skin. Her collar bones don’t show. Her ribs don’t stick out. Her butt is massive. Her hair is plain and straight. She isn’t anything but thin and tall. So why is she considered gorgeous?
I still love her like a little sister, despite her permanent dismissive attitude toward me. We still spend most of our free time hanging out. And I know that when we do things together, my stories and opinions will be cut short when she has something new to say, I know she will spend all of her time on the phone with her internet friends, I know she will only ever buy gifts for the people she has never even met. She is just another person who dismisses me for not being worthy. Sadly, this list includes far too many people in my life. And now I have friends and I can’t tell them how much pain I’m in because the thought of them seeing me vulnerable and then dismissing me will probably push me over the edge. So many people are capable of getting close and then dropping you like a worn out penny. Why do people do that?
I started this post today just wanting to think about my mother falling back into her bipolar mood swings and it turned into me saying all the things that have hurt me over the years. It always comes back to me being hurt. It always comes back to me. Maybe I am a self-centered little bitch, maybe mother was right to say that. Maybe she was right to tell me no one could love me. Maybe she was right to say I am too selfish to have a relationship. Maybe she was right to say everything.
On an unrelated note, haha unrelated sure, I’m on day 3 of a fast. I have been eating too much in the past week and the only cure is an extended fast. I’m shooting for no fewer than 5 days, though 10 or 14 would be preferred.
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